


Radio Silence

by vampgirltish



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: F/M, Gen, Suicide, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampgirltish/pseuds/vampgirltish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The radio cut out, and Danny felt a sudden sense that everything was very wrong.<br/>You cut out, and you felt a sudden sense that everything was very right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His.

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning.

The radio cut out, and Danny felt a sudden sense that everything was very wrong. He was driving down the highway when it stopped. In the middle of Rush's Afterimage, Geddy Lee singing, "This is something that just can't be understood..." Something was very wrong. He pressed down the gas harder, cruising ten over the speed limit and trying to get home quickly. A sinking feeling in his stomach that he just couldn't shake.

Slamming the car door shut once he got home, he opened the front door, calling to the house, "I'm home!" Silence answered him, and that only caused the sinking feeling to reach closer to the gravitational center of the earth, farther pulling his heart. He walked around. Not in the kitchen, not in the bathroom, not in the living room, not in the basement. Where was she?

He made his way to the bedroom- the only place he had left to check. Swinging open the door, his voice was soft as he said, "Hey, are you in here?"

The sight before him caused him to all but collapse into a pile on the floor, nausea sweeping him like a crashing ocean wave. He looked. Saw it. He couldn't tear his eyes away, no matter how much he wanted to as the sob bubbled from his chest, his lungs, right out of his mouth and into the open air, the god damn silence.

He saw her. Her body, hung up with one of his belts on one of the beams in the room. Stool kicked to the side. She looked peaceful, but she was dead.

God, she was dead.

She was in a pretty blue dress. The one that he had asked her to wear to their date tonight. Danny searched for some note, any message to indicate what had happened, why this had happened. He looked at his phone and saw three missed calls and five text messages. By her feet was a note.

He listened to the messages.

It started with her voice. _"I don't think I want to go out tonight. I'm sorry. I'm not feeling up to it."_  Then the robotic voice said, "End of message, time at four thirty-seven P.M."

Then her voice.  _"I'm not feeling well today. Call me back soon."_ "End of message, time at five fifteen P.M."

_"I don't know if your message box is full so you aren't getting these. I'm sorry."_ "End of message, time at six P.M."

Then, he looked at the messages. They were all from her. All in succession.

_I don't know why my calls aren't going through._

_Why aren't you answering?_

_Did I do something wrong?_

_I'm really not feeling well._

_I miss you._

He scrabbled for the note on the floor. It was written in her handwriting, and that disgusting realization that she'd never write anything again hit him like a freight train.

_Danny,_

_This isn't your fault. It never was. I'm just too tired of my thoughts. I couldn't do it anymore. Go fall in love with someone else who can love you the right way. Some pretty girl who will make you happy. I could never do that for you. I was more trouble than I was worth. Even still, I love you always._

_(y/n)_

He broke down and sobbed harder, clutching the note in his hands like it could somehow make her come back. But it couldn't. Nothing could.

xxxx

Danny had never been this bad. Not since college, at least. He cried every day. Before each session, he'd have to drown his thoughts in caffeine and a nap. He hardly slept except for those naps. Most of his dreams were filled with just seeing her hanging there, skin pale and splotchy. Lifeless. He couldn't get that image out of his head, couldn't get the silence filling up the room until the sirens of an ambulance filled it instead. He could never, ever get that out of his head. Everyone else saw him deteriorating, eating less and being less excited. It took almost four years for the next album to come out, because half of the time, the takes sounded wrong and forced. The spoken word portions were short and forced. Nothing about it was right.

Then again, nothing about his life was right since she'd left.

 


	2. Hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning.

He wasn't answering her calls. Why would he? It's not like he cared. It's not like he loved her.

He wasn't answering her text messages. Why would he? He didn't care, didn't care, didn't care.

He was trying even less than he had promised he would. He tried less. He didn't care, didn't bother. Not even one message of worry.

When she said she wasn't up to it, usually that meant she was too depressed to go out. He didn't remember that. Because he didn't care. He never did.

She wrote a short note. Nothing long. It didn't matter. She didn't have much to say to someone who didn't care.

She searched in the closet and found one of his belts. Pulling on it, it was leather. Leather wouldn't break under pressure. She carried it with her and found a stool. Looping the belt over the beam in the bedroom, and firmly latching the belt around her neck, the buckle right taut on her throat, she stood up on that stool. It was so quick and easy. She'd been awful for a few weeks now, and he'd known it. He hadn't done anything. Work, he said, he had to work, he had to go to work, he had to record this or that. And she got that. She understood that he had work. But when he had work, ignored her calls, came straight home to eat whatever she'd made for them both that night, and then passed out on the couch without so much as a hello, that was when it was too much. That's when everything came creeping in like a dark, choking, claustrophobic fog.

When he stopped replying to her texts, when he didn't call her back, when she wasn't sure if her voicemails even went through, when the calls went straight to voicemail...something was wrong.

But as she stepped off that stool, felt that instant of weightlessness before the belt caught her, and the four or so seconds where she felt her neck snap and the entire world tilt on its axis with dizziness, she felt free. Like it was over. He was free of her useless, pointless problems, wasn't he? She was free of bothering him. It was because of him that she had done this, even if she'd lied in the note. He'd never know that. She told him that it wasn't his fault. She was doing this to help him, not hurt him. And she knew it would help him easily. He wouldn't have to put up with her.

She cut out, and she felt a sudden sense that everything was very right.

The feeling of weightlessness was like doing a flip into a swimming pool.

The belt catching her was like falling into the familiar chokehold of her negative thoughts again, clutching at her, suffocating her for a second.

The moment her neck snapped, it felt like a release; like the popping of a knuckle or of a tiny bubble on bubble wrap.

The world tilting on its axis while she got dizzy and black crept in her vision from the lack of oxygen felt like the second of regret she had.

The feeling of her body swinging gently from the movements of stepping off that stool before she died felt like an ocean wave, gently lapping and pushing her slowly, deeply into the fullness of the sea where she could be sucked under by the dark currents and finally drown.

But it was too late for that now. She was gone. Her neck snapped and she died. She wasn't coming back.


End file.
